"Aye. To be the Lord of Zenda is much. Is it not more to be husband to the King's sister?" "It is more," said he, "when the King's sister is the Princess Osra." And he looked at her now with open admiration. But she did not heed his glance, but with face pale as death she seized a small table and drew it between them and cried: "Throw then, my lord! We know the stakes." "If you win, Zenda is yours. If I win, you are mine." "Yes, I and Zenda also," said she. "Throw, my lord!" "Shall we throw thrice, madame, or once, or how often?" "Thrice, my lord," she answered, tossing back her hair behind her neck, and holding one hand to her side. "Throw first," she added. The Count rattled the box; and the throw was seven. Osra took the box from him, looked keenly and defiantly in his eyes, and threw. "Fortune is with you, madame," said he, biting his lips. "For a five and a four make nine, or I err greatly." He took the box from her; his hand shook, but hers was firm and steady; and again he threw. "Ah, it is but five," said he impatiently, and a frown settled on his brow. "It is enough, my lord," said Osra; and pointed to the dice that she had thrown, a three and a one. The Count's eyes gleamed again; he sprang towards her, and was about to seize the box. But he checked himself suddenly, and bowed, saying: "Throw first this time, I pray you, madame, if it be not disagreeable to you." "I do not care which way it is," said Osra, and she shook and made her third cast. When she lifted the box, the face of the dice showed seven. A smile broadened on the Count's lips, for he thought surely he could beat seven, he that had beaten eleven and thereby won the Castle of Zenda, which now he staked against the Princess Osra. But his eyes were very keenly and attentively on her, and he held the box poised, shoulder-high, in his right hand. Then a sudden faintness and sickness seized on the Princess, and the composure that had hitherto upheld her failed; she could not meet his glance, nor could she bear to see the fall of the dice; but she turned away her head before he threw, and stood thus with averted face. But he kept attentive eyes on her, and drew very near to the table so that he stood right over it. And the Princess Osra caught sight of her own face in the mirror, and started to see herself pallid and ghastly, and her features drawn as though she were suffering some great pain. Yet she uttered no sound. The dice rattled in the box; they rattled on the table; there was a pause while a man might quickly count a dozen; and then Count Nikolas of Festenburg cried out in a voice that trembled and tripped over the words: "Eight, eight, eight!" But before the last of the words had left his shaking lips, the Princess Osra faced round on him like lightning. She raised her hand so that the loose white sleeve fell back from her rounded arm, and her eyes flashed, and her lips curled as she outstretched her arm at him, and cried: "Foul play!"